


Actors

by squidmemesinc



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Angst, Other, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, dont at me, if there's a robot named froid theres a robot named pavlov, this is needlessly sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-21
Updated: 2017-09-21
Packaged: 2019-01-01 05:00:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12149136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/squidmemesinc/pseuds/squidmemesinc
Summary: It was probably never love, but whatever it was, it's not there anymore.





	Actors

**Author's Note:**

> Prowl/Chromedome ("""Tumbler""") is a big wound and I'm here to rub salt in it. Hi.

They’ve come together quietly. It’s always quiet now.

Tumbler leans his forehead against Prowl’s chest with his fingers thrusting languidly into the other bot, a slow, steady, and familiar pace, but it remains effective for all purposes it serves.

Judging just from the embrace, anyone might think it an intensely passionate moment; they’d appear overcome with each other easily, from the posturing, the easy atmosphere of coaxing overload in this dark, silent room. But even with Prowl’s arms resting on his shoulders, fingers very gently pressing to the back of his helm as he rocks slowly against Tumbler’s own arm that holds him steady and close, Tumbler feels nothing.

They don’t talk much anymore in intimate moments. Sometimes they don’t talk at all. Tumbler can’t remember the last word Prowl said to him. He knows when they’re working, they say hundreds of thousands of words to each other, and then at some point it can all shut off. And in the following indeterminable period of time, he can barely remember what Prowl’s voice sounds like. He can’t remember who reached for whom first tonight. But here they are.

Tumbler performs his role with dedication, eagerness, almost, putting on such a convincing act that maybe Prowl could even be fooled. Of course he’s not, though. Statistically, they’ve reached the point of going through the motions. This is all the possible outcomes and they’ve arrived at them. Tumbler’s fingers slick diligently against Prowl’s throbbing insides, striking the familiar nodes that respond in an almost Pavlovian way to his touch, and Tumbler can feel the charge jumping back against his fingers. If Prowl’s acting too, Tumbler can pretend to be convinced. That’s the comfort they’ve left each other, that they can make this work without breaking any norms until the thing that does break is just…everything.

Maybe it’s rooted in the fact that with everything changing so fast, the one thing they have that remains constant is each other. Prowl’s too smart to give him up for the same reason Tumbler is too scared.

Tumbler reaches his arm up around Prowl, moving his helm into the crook of his neck. Prowl makes a soft, wordless noise when Tumbler stretches his fingers deeper into him, seating his anterior node firmly between his thumb and his fingers, squeezing them together as he strokes within his lover’s body. Prowl’s thighs quake as he draws his arm back, clutching at the fins on the side of Tumbler’s head. Prowl kisses the topmost part of him. Tumbler feels parted lips venting soft puffs of hot air over his frame, feels the gentlest vibrations in Prowl’s throat more than he hears them. The rumble of his engine reverberates through his audials, familiar and penetrating easily to his core. It seems something in this erotic portrayal should stimulate him to feel something; if not passion, then maybe guilt, or unease. But there’s nothing. The presence he feels is the absence of feeling, and by its nature, it doesn’t bring him to react to it.

He finishes out the motions. Prowl rocks on his hand, his own moving restlessly over his shoulders, around his neck, his helm while his hips rise and sink in stilted motions. His rhythm is thrown off this close to overload. The logic all breaks down, and he shows a bit of reality, rather than this unrealistic, faultless visage of himself he projects for everyone else. Tumbler used to love it. He felt special for getting to see him at his most vulnerable. Now he’s embarrassed, especially as Prowl coaxes him to finish him off with unbelievable softness.

It’s probably another trick, this new act. This act that they’re more in love than they ever were, perpetrated by Prowl with these ridiculous touches to hold him accountable and excuse Prowl of any blame. These strange, quiet movements he might use if he were touching something that would break at just a bit of pressure. Gentility has never been in style for either of him, and the way it shows up now in moments like this. Prowl curls over Tumbler as his insides surge around his fingers, and Tumbler hardly feels him pressing back against him, although by indication of their position, it should be crushing. Two syllables—again, no words—and a moment of quiet stillness where Tumbler waits to draw out of him until his frame finishes out the most minute of agitations. They stay frozen, allowing a moment of planning so they can separate without meeting optics.

Tumbler keeps his head down as Prowl sinks down onto his haunches, fingers trailing over his chest and lips coming up to kiss tenderly along his jaw. He reaches between Tumbler’s legs, tapping lightly against his still closed panels. The gentility feels condescending. Prowl knows he hates it, but Tumbler doesn’t react. He catches Prowl’s hand and pushes his fingers through the gaps, squeezing their frames together to decline the offer.

Prowl kisses the side of his helm again, understanding, and they arrange themselves horizontally on the berth.

The warmth of Prowl against his back prickles, but it’s a sensation Tumbler knows will die down in a minute. He prepares his systems for a quiet recharge, and the silence stretches on.

“Tumbler, are you okay?”

A sound in the silence as jarring as shattering glass. Tumbler moves around it flawlessly, turning at last to meet Prowl’s unreadable optics. “Hm? Yeah, I’m fine.”


End file.
